


and the show goes on...

by lekhak



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Depression, Flashbacks, Fluff, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Love Doesn't Cure Mental Illness, M/M, PTSD, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Recovery, Realistic portrayal of mental illness is what I'm going for, Self Harm, Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 02:07:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9636161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lekhak/pseuds/lekhak
Summary: “I feel like she took everything from me,” Derek admitted. It was one of those days when he felt too cold and dead to hold back words.“She didn’t though,” Dr. Deaton answered, voice calm and soothing. “You’re here, alive and kicking. You’re here and you’re fighting.”I’m tired of fighting.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For M. I don't know where you are but I hope you get to read this. I wish I could have protected you from everything that happened, but especially from yourself.
> 
> **Important Note:** This story is about Derek who was a victim to child sexual abuse as a pre-teen. Although it is focused more on healing and recovery, I would still suggest proceeding with caution. Please refer to the tags for content warnings. 
> 
> Please remember that everyone deals with trauma differently and experiences different symptoms. I've tried to be as authentic as I possibly could with this so I hope I don't offend anyone with this, but I also hope you won't criticize how Derek deals with his trauma.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

“You didn’t get it fixed,” Derek said, eyes still closed.

Dr. Deaton huffed out an amused breath. “Someone will come fix it at six so that the next time you’re here, you can talk to me about yourself instead of my leaky faucet,” he said.

Derek didn’t answer. He didn’t _know_ what to say. He had been doing better – he hadn’t exactly been _happy,_ but he didn’t feel like there was an unbearable pressure on his chest all the time. In fact, there were moments when he was around his pack, around his boyfriend, that he almost felt fine. _Almost._

But then he’d woken up a couple days ago feeling completely hollowed out.

He was pretty sure he must have had another nightmare, but he couldn’t remember it. He didn’t _want_ to remember. The vague sensation of the nightmare’s clutches on his mind was enough.  

“Why does the faucet bother you so much?” Dr. Deaton asked.

_Drip. Drip. **Drip.**_

Derek steeled himself against the shudder climbing up his spine and just shrugged. “It’s annoying.”

*

He couldn’t feel his face, but Derek’s hands felt especially warm where they were clasped between Stiles’ own.

They were sitting face-to-face on the cold and slightly dewy grass of their garden and Stiles was talking a mile a minute about how much he hated being in university and how stupid college bros were and how much he hated group projects. Derek watched in fascination as an angry blush spread like water paint from the very edge of Stiles’ jaw up to his cheekbones.

Derek loved being with Stiles. It was like his brain completely forgot to attack him with unwanted thoughts when it was focusing on how animatedly Stiles talked. Every word was emphasised with a fitting facial expression and every emotion was distinctly expressed, which should have been impossible considering Stiles had _way_ too many emotions.

He felt calm, at peace with himself even when he felt Stiles’ fingers tightening almost painfully around his own in agitation.

“You know you can interrupt me anytime, right?” Stiles asked when he noticed how spaced out Derek looked. There was a small smile on his lips that made Derek want to kiss him for hours. “I could go on forever about how sucky university life is.”

 _I don’t have anything good to say,_ he thought.

 _You don’t have to act like you want to hear me talk,_ he thought.

 _I don’t want to,_ he wanted to say.

“I think my tongue’s frozen to death,” Derek voiced instead.

Stiles gave him a seductive grin in response, dragging his butt closer to Derek till they were nose to nose. “Should my tongue CPR yours back to life?”

Derek felt his lips twitch and leaned closer to rub his nose against Stiles’. “I can’t believe I still want to kiss you after that creepy one-liner.”

Stiles’ grin only widened. “You _always_ want to kiss me.”

“Not always,” Derek replied.

“No?” Stiles asked with a fake, hurt gasp, even though his eyes were shining with amusement.

_Not when I call still feel her hands on me._

“Not when you pour milk in a bowl before cereal-” Derek started but Stiles cut him off with an exaggerated groan.

“Oh my _god,_ when will you let that go?”

“When you stop doing it,” Derek answered easily, running his fingers through Stiles’ hair. He had liked them when they were buzzed, but he absolutely loved them now that they were a bit longer. They were so incredibly soft, like a puppy’s.

“I have to microwave the milk first so I can’t put-”

“That’s another thing I don’t like about you. You microwave your cereal milk.”

“Derek, do you _know_ how cold milk is when you take it straight out of the fridge?”

“I do, but I don’t microwave it. Because I’m not _weak.”_

*

Beacon Hills had calmed down over the last few years. There were no more monsters – supernatural or human – out to hurt them anymore.

Derek hated himself for longing for the time when he felt like he was kidnapped every other week.

He hadn’t stepped out of his house for a month, hadn’t showered in a week and had been avoiding phone calls and texts from everyone except Stiles. Lying in his bed, stomach quivering in hunger, he hated himself for everything that he was.

He had been in therapy for more than a year and he still wasn’t better. Dr. Deaton had told him not to rush himself, to let the process of recovery flow naturally without putting too much pressure on himself. But he couldn’t help but think that there was no recovery for him. He was too broken, fucked beyond belief, he was useless, worthless, _pathetic._

Derek pressed his claws where it ached in the middle of his chest, breath coming out in pants as blood pooled around the puncture wounds.

_Rip it out._

He ground his claws deeper inside his skin. The pain was making him breathless and feel dizzy and _right._

_Just a little deeper. No one will miss me. No will care. I will be free of this._

He knew he wouldn’t go through with it, but it somehow helped to imagine himself ripping his heart out of his chest. How amazing it would feel to _not_ feel, not think, to just stop being.

_I’m never going to be okay again._

*

Sometimes when the sting of his claws wasn’t enough, he forced himself to have sex with Stiles.

With every “I love you” that left Stiles’ lips, Derek’s stomach sank with guilt and disgust at himself because all he could see was Kate telling him how no one would ever love him as much as her.

*

“Should I tell you the most fucked up part of it all?”

“If you want to.”

“…Sometimes, I wish I’d get raped again.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I don’t have the right to be this messed up over something that happened fifteen years ago.”

*

Derek’s cheeks were hurting from smiling. He wanted to capture all the warmth and safety he was feeling in a box and preserve it forever.

“Stiles, I _know_ you’re cheating,” Erica growled, eyes flashing.

Stiles only rolled his eyes. “I’ll believe you when you can prove it.”

“Why did you even make him the bank when you _know_ he’s going to sneak off money to Derek?” Laura asked, rolling the dice on top of the monopoly board.

“Don’t be a sour loser, Lors,” Derek said with a grin.

“Get fucked, Der-bear,” Laura bit back, only to be smacked on the back of her head by Talia.

“Language,” their mother warned offhandedly, eyes still trained on the TV.

Derek huffed a laugh, hiding his smile in Stiles’ neck, while Laura shot him a glare tinged in red.

“Papa Hale, where the food at?” Stiles groused, falling back into Derek. “I’m going to die tragically and romantically in your son’s arms if I don’t get food right _now.”_

“Why are you so dramatic?” Derek mumbled, leaning sideways to grab a packet of Doritos without dislodging his snuggly boyfriend.

“Dramatic? _Me?_ How dare you, Derek Hale. How dare you insult me this way in front of our pack? What have I ever done to you to deserve this-”

Derek pushed a couple of chips in his mouth to shut him up.

“Thank you, Derek,” his dad shouted from the kitchen and Derek grinned.

Stiles glared at him even as he stuffed more Doritos in his mouth. “I honestly can’t understand why I steal fake money for you.”

 _“Aha!”_ Erica shouted as Laura threw a pillow at Stiles’ face. “I knew it!”

Derek let go of Stiles as Laura grabbed him by the legs and Erica slapped away his flailing hands to get a hold of his wrists.

“Derek, what the fuck?” Stiles shouted as Laura and Erica hefted him out of the house and towards the swimming pool. “Save me!”

“I’d rather not get in the middle of that,” he answered with a laugh.

“I committed fraud for you, you asshole! You fucking traitor! You will burn in hell for this, all of you! Unhand me right- _Ah, FUCK!_ It’s so cold, oh my god.”

*

“Have you told Stiles yet?”

Derek freezes. He knows where this is going. “Told him what?”

“Derek,” Deaton said in disapproval and Derek sighed.

“I don’t want him to pity me,” he answered honestly. “I don’t…I don’t want him to treat me like I’m something fragile.” _Like my family treats me._

“Then _tell_ him that. Stop holding your words in, Derek.”

*

A couple months had gone by since Derek had started planning how to be tell Stiles about therapy and…everything that went along with it.  

The thing was, Derek had never told _anyone_ about it. His parents had found out, they’d told his siblings, they’d told the lawyers, they’d debriefed all his therapists. He’d never had to do it for himself and he was so, so thankful for it.

Whenever Stiles came back from his university to stay for the weekend, Derek would tell himself that he could do it. It shouldn’t be so hard. He just had to start and then the words would come naturally. But every weekend, he ended up avoiding the issue and instead forcing himself to have sex nearly non-stop to keep himself from thinking too hard.

Of course Stiles caught onto the fact that something wasn’t okay.

Of course.

“Derek,” he said when Derek moved from his lips to his neck, sucking bruises into the pale skin.

He ignored Stiles and kept going. It didn’t feel okay, it didn’t feel right. He felt queasy as he pressed kisses to the centre of Stiles’ chest. He shouldn’t be using sex as a weapon or a shield to hide behind. He had done it before and…that hadn’t ended well. He didn’t want his relationship with Stiles to end because of his fucked up ways but he _couldn’t_ _stop himself._

 _“Derek,”_ Stiles said, louder this time as tugged Derek’s hair to get his attention. “Stop. Come up here.”

“Why?” Derek said, voice cold in fear and… _anger,_ lips still pressed against the skin of Stiles’ torso. “Is this not good? Am I not making you feel good?”

“What?” Stiles asked in confusion. “Of course you are.”

Derek shoved himself off the bed, nose flaring in anger he didn’t understand. “Then why do you want me to stop?”

“Derek, what are you-Can I not ask you to stop?” Stiles asked incredulously, sitting up.  

_Why do you get to say no when I didn’t? Why didn’t I get to say no?_

“Der, what’s wrong?” Stiles asked as he inched closer to Derek.

Derek flinched back. He hated when he did that, hated when he flinched without thought or reason. “Don’t,” he bit out, more for Stiles’ sake than his own. He felt out of his mind and he didn’t want to accidentally hurt Stiles.

“Derek, _talk_ to me,” Stiles whispered, backing off. He looked scared and that pissed off Derek even more.

“I’m not an animal,” he growled. “I’m not going to fucking hurt you so stop looking like you’re scared.”

“I’m scared for _you,_ you asshole,” Stiles answered without any heat, eyes wide in concern. “You’re bleeding.”

Derek blinked. He looked down at his shaking arm and yes, he was bleeding. His claws were out and digging into his skin. He didn’t remember doing it or _feeling_ it and fuck, fuck, fuck, now was not a good time to dissociate.

“I…I’m bleeding,” Derek said, prying his claws out of his arm with a sickeningly wet sound.

“I’ll-” Stiles started saying, walking towards Derek but it was too much.

Everything was too much.

“Leave,” Derek said quietly, sitting down at the foot of his bed. His eyes were fixed on the spot where his skin was trying to stitch itself back, blood sluggishly oozing out of the wound.

“Derek, what-”

“Please, leave,” he repeated, looking up to meet Stiles’ scared eyes. He held his gaze till he was sure Stiles knew he meant it and then he turned away. “And don’t come back.”

*

“I feel like she took everything from me,” Derek admitted. It was one of those days when he felt too cold and dead to hold back words.

“She didn’t though,” Dr. Deaton answered, voice calm and soothing. “You’re here, alive and kicking. You’re here and you’re fighting.”

_I’m tired of fighting._

_*_

Derek stared at the ceiling and thought about Kate.

Most days, he tried to convince himself that she didn’t exist, that she had never existed. But some days, he gave into his brain’s masochistic need to torture him with her face, her voice, her smell, her _words._

He could hear her as if she was sitting right next to him.

“You’re really good at this, baby,” her sickeningly sweet voice would say with his face between her thighs. “God, right _there.”_

Derek shot out of his bed, angrily making his way to the bathroom. He pushed the door open hard enough for it to bang against the wall and sat at the edge of the bathtub, staring at the toilet seat.

He felt weak all of a sudden, all his energy and anger drained out of him completely. He felt like he was sitting in a crime scene even though this wasn’t the same bathroom. It still felt like it had all happened here.

He stood up on shaky legs as he walked to the sink, carefully twisting the faucet till it dripped. He slid to the floor, back pressed against the bathtub and eyes fixed to the toilet seat, and let the memories blind him.

*

The next time he walked into Dr. Deaton’s office, his entire family was there too.

He froze for a moment before he sighed. He hadn’t ever been okay, but after the Stiles debacle, he had started pushing them all away. He hadn’t showered or so much as looked at the bathroom since he had broken everything in there in a fit of rage. He had turned off and then broken his phone and threatened to kill his siblings when they tried to force their way inside his house.

He had stood with his back against the front door as Stiles begged to come in.

It wasn’t a surprise that his family was accosting him like this. Although this wasn’t his worst low ever, it was still in the top fives.

“I don’t need an intervention,” he said as soon as he sat down in his chair. It had been three months since he spiralled, but once again, this wasn’t his worst low yet.

Talia took a shaky breath and reached forward to caress his arm gently. “This isn’t an intervention, Derek,” she said. “We have something to tell you.”

Derek raised an eyebrow with as much emotion as he could muster. “And you had to come here to tell me whatever it is?”

“It’s about Kate,” Talia said and Derek tensed.

“Just say it,” he said. He didn’t want to know but he also desperately wanted to know and he just wanted to rip the band-aid off and then claw his fucking skin off.

Talia took a deep breath, hand tightening around his arm before she said, “She committed suicide. They found her body in her cell today.”

Derek blacked out.

*

“Do you blame yourself?” Derek asked his parents, voice hoarse from screaming and crying.

That had them both crying again and Derek felt like he was watching them from somewhere outside his body.

“I do,” his father said, sniffing. “I…I _hate_ myself for ever trusting Kate.”

“I wish I could go back in time and stop it all,” his mother sobbed. “I wish you never had to go through that, son. I blame myself every single day for everything that happened.”

Derek stared impassively as his parents cried, as his siblings tried to console them, to comfort them. He turned away, staring back out of the window. “Good,” he said simply.

*

“I don’t want to exist anymore. I-I don’t have the strength to keep going on.”

“I think you are strong enough to get through this.”

“It’s not fair.”

“What isn’t?”

“That she gets to get away from all this and I don’t. It’s not fair.”

*

Six months after Kate’s death, Derek surpasses the little kiddie pool he had set up in his living room for baths and stepped into his bathroom.

There wasn’t anything he could do once he was inside since he’d destroyed everything in there but he felt incredibly brave for even standing there. Half the mirror was broken into pieces spread all over the floor and the other half showed a stranger wearing his clothes. He looked skeletal, skin stretched thin and tight over his bones. His cheeks were caved in, the skin around his eyes looked bruised and an itchy, long beard covered half his face. He felt sick looking at himself because that _wasn’t_ him.

That man, standing in the mirror, wasn’t Derek Hale.

That man was the consequence of everything Kate Argent had done to him.

*

Derek pulled the hood of his sweatshirt down to cover more of his face as he stepped into Home Depot. He didn’t want anyone recognising him. It was hard enough to force himself to get out, he didn’t want to force himself into conversation just yet.

But because the universe hated him, he didn’t just stumble into _any_ acquaintance, he stumbled into Allison Argent.

“Hey,” she said, not recognising him and giving him a polite smile. “How can I help-” Her eyes widened when Derek removed his hood in resignation and her face paled.

“Hi.”

Allison had been best friends with Cora when the Argents were friends of his family. When everyone had found out what Kate had been doing to Derek when she had been babysitting, that friendship had ended too. Cora, young and not really understanding what was going on, had lashed out against Allison in front of everyone and none of them had ever seen any of the Argents after that.

“Derek,” Allison breathed.

“Ali,” he said, the familiarity of the nickname burning his throat. It felt like just yesterday that he could hear Allison playing with his sisters just on the other end of the bathroom door.

“H-How’ve you been?” she asked awkwardly.

_I’ve been better but Kate fucked me over once again._

But he settled for, “I’ve been better.” He tried for a smile and he mostly succeeds, if Allison’s answering smile was anything to go by. “How are you? I didn’t know you guys returned to Beacon Hills.”

“Yeah, we came back a few months ago after…” She froze.

Derek nodded in understanding. “After Kate’s death.”

“You heard about that?” Allison squeaked guiltily.

“Yeah,” he answered with another forced smile.

“Derek, I…I never got to say that I’m sorry. If I’d known what was-”

“I don’t blame you,” and he felt lighter somehow. He had spent years of his life blaming everyone for not helping him and it felt good to shift the blame to the only person who truly deserved it. “And honestly, I’m tired of this topic. Can we please talk about something else?”

“Of course,” Allison answered, her shoulders no longer tense. “Let’s start with what I can help you find here.”

“A faucet,” Derek replied. “I broke mine.”

*

“You seem well,” Dr. Deaton commented as Derek took his usual seat.

“I’m not,” Derek answered truthfully, “but I’m getting there.”

*

It took them a couple months to build a functional friendship between them again, but soon, Stiles and Derek were back on talking terms.

It had taken a while for Derek to get Stiles to forgive him, especially because he still wasn’t ready to explain everything to Stiles. It started with a couple texts and then calling each other, to eventually meeting face to face. Stiles had even briefly dated someone before declaring that he was going to wait for Derek because he had ruined all dating prospects for Stiles by simply existing.

Derek couldn’t help but smirk in secret pride at that.

“Are you thinking about how you’ve ruined all men and women for me?” Stiles asked with a roll of his eyes as he took another sip of coffee.

Derek cleared his throat and straightened up. “No,” he said a little too quickly.

Stiles just rolled his eyes harder at that. “You always start doing that li’l smirky thing and puff out your chest when you think about it.”

“Pft, no, I don’t,” Derek protested weakly even though he could feel his ears turning red in embarrassment.

“Right,” Stiles said sarcastically.

Derek fondly watched him put another spoonful of sugar in his coffee and held himself back from launching himself across the kitchen island to kiss the sweetness straight off Stiles’ lips.

“What am I thinking about now?” Derek asked because Stiles obviously knew, judging from the pleased little smile on his lips.

“You’re thinking about how much you want to kiss me,” he replied easily, focusing on buttering his toast and not even sparing Derek a glance.

“No,” Derek answered, grip tightening on his mug. “I’m thinking its time I come clean.”

Stiles snapped his head up to look at him, eyes wide in surprise. “Derek,” he said softly. “You don’t have to unless you think you’re ready to.”

Derek huffed out a sardonic laugh at that. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready,” he said. “But I’d like to get this over with and move on as soon as possible.”

Stiles watched him warily for a second before nodding. “Go on.”

_Fuck._

Derek had no idea what to say, where to begin, how to say what he wanted to say, how not to scare Stiles off. There was too much to tell and Derek wasn’t sure he wanted Stiles to know everything. He wasn’t sure where to draw the line, wasn’t sure if he was _allowed_ to draw the line.

 _Stiles, I’m in therapy,_ he thought.

 _Stiles, I was raped when I was nine,_ he thought.

 _Stiles, I’m completely fucked up,_ he wanted to say.

So he said it.

“I was raped when I was nine,” he said and watched in fascination as all colour drained out of Stiles’ face. “I’m kind of fucked up. I mean, _everyone’s_ fucked up but I’m a bit on the extreme side of that scale. I’ve been in therapy on and off ever since. I have good days and I have bad days. Recently, I have been having more good days than bad, but that doesn’t mean it’ll stay like that forever,” Derek said truthfully.

“Recovery is a process, not a one-way journey,” Derek repeated Dr. Deaton’s words. “I don’t want you to think I’m getting better and I will be okay because that’s not how it works. I’ll probably go off my rocker once in a while but I will keep trying to get better.”

Derek reached across the isle to hold onto Stiles’ trembling hands. “I, uh, I don’t want you to know any more than that,” he said, his voice shaky despite his attempt at being sure of himself. He was allowed to set boundaries, he was allowed to say what he wanted, he was allowed to say _stop_. “I want you to know what you’re getting into; I probably should’ve told you the first time we tried this. But this is all I’m going to tell you. The details are mine to keep.”

“Of course,” Stiles said, voice going croaky in shock. He leaned across the isle to cup Derek’s face in his hands and his eyes were tearing up. “Derek, _of course._ You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. You didn’t even need to tell me all of that if you didn’t want to. I-I’m so fucking sorry you had to go through any of that. _God.”_

“It’s okay,” Derek said gently. It felt weird to be so calm about all of it, so weird to be the one calming someone _else_ down. “It wasn’t your fault.”

*

“Ready for another weird part of this mess?”

“Of course,” Dr. Deaton replied.

“When I tell someone about what was done to me, it feels like I’m making a big deal out of it. But if I hear that the same thing happened to someone else, I completely lose my shit.”

“You should empathise more with yourself. You’ve been through a lot.”

“Yeah, but it was _years_ ago.”

“And does that make it okay?”

“…No.”

“There you go.”

*

“Mom? Dad? Can I talk to you for a second?” Derek asked.

His parents looked at each other warily before nodding and leading them away from the rest of the pack. They shut the door to the study room and settled down around the fireplace, looking anywhere but their son.

It had been months since Derek had blamed them for Kate and their relationship had quickly plunged after that.

“I blame myself for what happened too,” he said after the silence had stretched too long. His parents snapped up to look at him and were just about to break into an argument, when Derek raised a hand to silence them. “You have to understand that in my position, I can do nothing but blame everything and everyone. I keep thinking I should have screamed, I should have told you the first time it happened, I should have bitten her and run. I keep thinking that maybe I enjoyed it.”

Derek’s father sobbed at that and Derek moved to hug him, but he still continued talking, knowing that if he stopped, he’d never talk to them about this again.

“I had to have enjoyed it to let it go on for so long, right?” Derek said and his father shuddered in his hold. Talia wrapped her arms around her husband and son, needing to give them comfort as much as she needed to receive it herself. “But when I think of any other nine-year-old in my position, I don’t hold the same expectations from them. A _child_ shouldn’t have to know how to protect themselves from something like this. Just like a parent shouldn’t have to _expect_ something like this to happen to their children.”

“Derek,” Talia whispered, voice laden with emotion.

“I’m so, so sorry I blamed you or nine-year-old me for what happened,” Derek said, and it took him a moment to realise that he was crying too. “We didn’t do anything wrong. It was _her._ She’s the one who should be suffering for this. Why should the weight of her crimes rest on our shoulders?”

*

“Do you think I’ll ever be okay?” Derek asked Dr. Deaton on his two hundredth and seventy second, and hopefully last, therapy session. They had been seeing each other for about four years and after slowly going from weekly to monthly sessions, they’d decided that Derek was well enough to stop therapy for now.

“Do _you_ think you’ll ever be okay?” Dr. Deaton said, mouth twitching in amusement.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Don’t answer my questions with questions.”

Dr. Deaton laughed. “It depends on your definition of ‘okay,’ I guess.”

“I mean, normal. Will I ever be like other people?”

“There are people who are like you – people who have shared your experiences. Truthfully speaking, you probably won’t be like the rest,” Dr. Deaton replied. “Your experiences set you apart from them.”

Derek nodded, gathering his bag from the other end of the couch as he stood up to leave. His time in this office was over. At least for now.

“But to answer your question,” Derek said at the door, “I do think I’ll be okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> meet me **[@pavfoot](http://pavfoot.tumblr.com)** on tumblr.


End file.
